Dark Reflection
by Charlene Edwards
Summary: Something smells rotten in Gotham and it's up to Nightwing to get to the bottom of it ... no matter who it hurts.
1. Chapter 1a

Title: Dark Reflection 

Author: Charlene Edwards 

Rating: R Disclaimer: DC owns the characters ... which is just not fair lol 

Synopsis: Something smells rotten in Gotham and it's up to Nightwing to get to the bottom of it ... no matter who it hurts. 

Thanks go out to Patty for the beta, she's the best. This one's been in the planning stages for a long time and the bunny finally decided to stop nibbling and start taking chunks of skin sooooooooo Here we go with the posting. I hope you all enjoy the ride. It might get a little bumpy ;-) Char 

**DARK REFLECTION: Part 1a:**

Oracle dispatched Nightwing to answer a silent alarm at Gotham City's Star Labs. Quietly, he entered the building. It didn't take him long to find the ten or so criminals who were diligently working to disconnect and dismantle some equipment from a piece of machinery he didn't recognize. 

He threw out his special mini Batarangs skillfully talking out some of the criminals. Swinging down, he went into action. In a series of kicks, parries and punches, he littered the lab floor with the unconscious thieves. Nightwing smiled. Then, he heard a crackle behind him. Turning, he saw one of the mini Batarangs had sliced into the machine. "At least they have insurance," he said aloud as the machinery erupted in a blinding light. 

BLACKNESS 

Sprawled across the lab floor, Nightwing woke slowly. He had no clue how long he had been unconscious. Pushing himself up on his knees, Nightwing looked around the room. What he saw made him doubt his vision. He shook his head, but the scene before him stayed the same. Instead of criminals littering the floor, it was Star Lab guards. At least, that is what their uniforms said. None of the thieves were in sight. The explosion must have brought the guards, and then the thieves must have attacked the guards while he was unconscious. 

Quickly, he moved to check the guards. With a sad sigh, he realized none of them had a pulse. They were all dead. A wave of nausea hit him and Nightwing fell to his knees again. 

"Oh what the hell?" 

"Nightwing report." 

The sound of Batman's voice brought Nightwing to immediate attention. Shaking off his ill feelings, he responded, "Nightwing here." 

"Where are you?" 

"Star Labs. There was an explosion. The guards are dead and --" 

"Leave. Now. You were supposed to be at the Thorn building twenty minutes ago." 

Nightwing rolled his eyes. He hated it when Batman ordered him around. Multiple murders had occurred here, WHILE he was here and unconscious. He needed to stay and investigate. Yet, Batman seemed adamant that he join him on the Thorn building. Maybe it was something important. He couldn't remember. Actually, he didn't remember he was suppose to meet Batman. 

He heard sirens in the distance growing closer and closer. He could leave this to the GCPD he supposed, they could handle this. "And if not, I can always come back later." As he started to leave, he looked back at the bodies and shook his head. Something didn't seem ... right. Shrugging it off to his possible concussion, he left the building for his rendezvous with Batman. 

He landed on the roof of the Thorn building slightly louder than he had anticipated. Batman grunted, but said nothing, as he continued to stare across the street. Nightwing could tell Batman wasn't happy with him. Batman didn't have to say a word. "Well, you survive an explosion at Star Labs and see how loud you are," he grumbled as he went to stand beside Batman. "What's so important that you --" 

"Robin," Batman responded flatly as he pointed to the building across the street. 

Nightwing adjusted the lenses in his mask so that he could see into an apartment in the building across the way. He saw Robin, seemingly stalking an elderly man. "Who's that?" 

Batman glanced at Nightwing. "Explosion. Were you injured?" 

"Unconscious for a while. Don't know how long." 

"You may have a concussion." 

"Maybe. I'll be okay though," Nightwing responded as he watched Batman turn his attention back to Robin. Nightwing turned to watch. He saw Robin who had the man backed against the wall with nowhere to go. Jumping up, Robin's boot slammed into the man's skull crushing it. Nightwing gripped the ledge of the building. NO. Robin ... Tim .. he couldn't have just ... 

"Damn, did I miss it?" a voice called from behind him. A voice Dick knew should NOT be behind him on this rooftop. Slowly he turned around to see Batgirl -- Barbara not Cassandra. She walked over, no, sauntered over, placing her slender arms around his neck. "Hiya hunk wonder," she started as she kissed him. "Did I miss the little birdie make his first solo kill?" 

"Yes," Batman replied flatly. 

Nightwing felt sick. Something was wrong. Had to be wrong. He was still unconscious, that was it. It had to be. Please God! Tim couldn't have ... Bruce wouldn't have let him ... and Babs ... please God. 

"Damn, you know how a good kill makes me horny," this Batgirl whispered in Nightwing's ear. 

He grabbed the ledge of the building and retched over it. Her hands were around him, comforting him. They felt like Babs's hands, the way she moved, it was like HIS Barbara, but ... 

"What's wrong with you?" Batgirl asked Nightwing. 

"Concussion," Batman responded as he turned around to greet Robin who landed on the roof. "You talk to much during a kill, just like Nightwing," Batman stated coolly. 

"Good Job Robin. Clean kill Robin" Robin mocked while he walked over to Nightwing and Batgirl. "Yo 'Wingster, did ya see it?" the boy asked excitedly. "I did the move exactly like you showed me. Killed that guy with one kick. It was AWESOME!" Nightwing felt light headed. He dropped to his knees. Robin was immediately beside him. "Bro? Bro, what's wrong?" 

Nightwing looked Robin in the face. It seemed like Tim. The concern in his voice. But how could ... "I'm sick. I'm really sick." 

"Batgirl, take him home. I'll have Leslie meet you at your apartment. Robin, we're going to discuss your performance when we get home." 

"But," Robin started. Nightwing looked up as Robin snapped his mouth shut. Robin knew better than to argue, he also knew better than to kill. Nightwing's world lurched again, and his stomach rolled when Robin helped Nightwing stand up. Batgirl put her arms around Nightwing's waist, allowing his weight rest against her. "I'll come see ya tomorrow Bro. See if you're okay." 

Nightwing nodded as Batgirl started leading him away. His mind couldn't comprehend what was happening. This wasn't real, it couldn't be. Babs wasn't Batgirl -- not any longer -- even before Joker took her legs. And Tim wouldn't kill, he couldn't. And Bruce --- God that sounded like Bruce, even the way he wasn't satisfied with Robin's performance. BUT that wasn't just a performance or a move that was ... MURDER. God how could Tim have murdered that man? Tim? 

She led him to the Nightbird and absentmindedly, he got in the car. Batgirl quickly got behind the wheel of the car and sped off into the Gotham night. 

"How'd you get injured?" she asked him. 

"There was ... an explosion," he replied as he watched the city speeding by him. It looked the same, yet nothing was familiar. 

"You'll be okay Short-Pants, after Leslie gets a look at you." He turned at stared at the woman driving the car. She called him "Short-Pants". She looked like Babs, she sounded like Babs, but ... "You'll be fine hon, and then we'll celebrate the kid's coming out." He watched as she moved her right hand to his leg, rubbing his upper thigh. 

His vision was blurry. His head was heavy. He leaned his head against the cool windowpane and closed his eyes. He knew he had a concussion and with a concussion he shouldn't go to sleep, but he could close his eyes. Just for a minute. Maybe ... it would be all over when he woke up. 

TO BE CONTINUED . . . 


	2. Chapter 1b

Dark Reflection Part 1b

  


Dick awoke in a strange bed. The room was unfamiliar, but there were familiar objects occupying it. The framed photograph of him and Babs at the beach, which graced his living room wall, hung directly across from the bed. His 'Flying Graysons' poster hung on the wall to the left of the bed, and on the wall to the right hung Barbara's diplomas. Throwing the sheets off him, Dick realized he was only in his boxers. Someone had undressed him. 

He stood on unsteady legs, and slowly moved to the bathroom. He found his Nightwing uniform in the hamper, his toothbrush, razors and cough syrup with his name on the prescription. Moving back into the bedroom, he started searching through the dresser drawers. Barbara's clothes mixed in with his in the drawers. They were living together. 

No. This was wrong. It was all wrong. 

Dick sat on the side of the bed. He had to think. What had happened? 

The door opened and Barbara Gordon walked in. His breath caught in his chest at the sight of her. Her hair was still long, as it had been when she was 

Batgirl. He loved her hair long. She was only wearing slinky underwear on her thin muscular frame. Still so familiar and … so wrong.

"Sleepy head awake?" she asked in a sultry voice as she climbed up on the bed with him. She moved on her knees behind him, and started massaging his shoulders. "Leslie left some medicine for you, if you need it. Cut on the TV, I want to watch the news," she whispered in his ear. 

Dick didn't need her distracting him. His body may want her distracting him, but he needed to think. He couldn't think with an almost naked Barbara Gordon rubbing against him. He grabbed the remote, cutting on the TV. Perhaps that could distract his distraction. 

Summer Gleason's face filled the screen " -- at Star Labs last evening. Videotape surveillance equipment captured the international assassin Nightwing as he murdered ten guards before causing the explosion of the experimental matter transference capacitor. Nightwing is part of the team of assassins led by the Batman. It is reputed --" 

"Damn if you weren't hot on that tape," Babs growled excitedly. 

Dick stared at the screen. He had watched himself committing murder ... but ... that wasn't him. And this ... wasn't a ... nightmare. What was going on? Matter transference capacitor? Could he have ... is it possible. Batman had briefed them all on the theory of the hyperverse. Had he and the Nightwing of this place changed places? These people were ... murderers. This Nightwing was a murderer -- a very skilled murderer. If he had changed places -- then -- that murderer was in his world -- with his family. 

Barbara's massaging hands around his waist broke his concentration. Her lips caressed the back of his neck with smooth kisses and then gentle nips. Steadily increasing the intensity of her ministrations until he moaned at the sharp pain as white teeth pierced the delicate skin of his ear. The sound of his cry only increased her passion as her hands slipped between his legs groping him. Barbara pulled him back on the bed and straddled him. Her sinful smile grew as one of her hands stroked his rising manhood while her other hand fondled his chest. 

Dick felt his body reacting to her stimulus ... but this wasn't Babs ... or at least it wasn't HIS Babs. He couldn't ... wouldn't. His hands grabbed her shoulders swinging her off him. "No! Uh ... not now." 

"What do you mean, not now? Why not now?" she hissed sitting up over him. 

"I'm not feeling well Babs. That ... explosion ... this head injury is really giving me a sense of vertigo. I just ... don't feel up to it. Okay?"

She slipped from straddling him and lay beside him on the bed. Her hands caressed his forehead. "Poor baby is sick. I'll call Leslie, have her see you today. Maybe the medicines from last night aren't enough." This Barbara kissed his forehead and moved to his eye, then kissed his cheek before pulling his lips to hers. Her tongue pushed its way into his mouth.

She tasted like Barbara. Smelled like Barbara. God where was the fairness ... this Barbara was a killer ... and she still walked. This Dick and Barbara were more 'together' than he and his Barbara had ever been. Why were the killers seemingly rewarded with what he had longed for since he first met her? He turned away. "Yeah, I ... I think I need to see Leslie. I'm sorta sick to my stomach."

The doorbell rang, giving new meaning to the phrase 'saved by the bell.' Barbara stood from the bed, grabbed her floral silk bathrobe, and threw it over her shoulders. "I'll get it," she replied. She stopped by the laptop sitting on the desk by the door and clicked a few keys. "Wonderful it's Daddy Dearest."

Dick Grayson watched her walk out into the living room, the door swinging slightly shut behind her. He moved from the bed and looked at the screen. The man standing at the door looked like the Jim Gordon he knew. His stomach knotted as he wondered how he was different in this world. He ran his hands through his hair and stood a moment, slightly unsure of what to do. His whole world was ... wrong. This wasn't his world ... that was what was wrong. "And how the hell do I get back home?"

He heard this Barbara greeting her father. The sounds were so familiar. How warped and twisted could this be? He propped himself against the desk as another wave of nausea swept over him. Standing, he pulled open one of the drawers and fished around until he found a gray pair of sweatpants. Pulling them on, he started out the door, but then he stopped. Dick caught his reflection in the mirror and moved. He gazed deep into his face, and then his eyes drifted down to the photograph of the Dick Grayson of this world. He picked up the frame and held it close. His gaze alternated between the mirror and the picture. He studied the planes of his face and the exact same features on the picture. Mirror images. There were no differences no matter how hard he looked. This world was a dark reflection of his own.

A trembling hand placed the frame back on the dresser. He ran his hand through his thick black hair and steeled himself to play his part until he could figure out a way to escape this world and go home. Casually, he opened the door and emerged into the apartment's living room. 

"Hey Com--" he started, but halted biting his lip. He had no clue what THIS Jim Gordon did. "Jim. How are you today?"

"Fine Dick," Gordon replied. "Babsie tells me you have the flu."

"I've got something," Dick answered as he looked around orienting himself to his new surroundings. He sat in the red leather recliner where he could overlook the entire room. 

"Daddy says he has a meeting with the mayor this morning Dick. About Nightwing and the murders of those ten poor guards we saw on the news," Barbara said as she handed him a cup of steaming black coffee.

"Really?" Dick asked taking the cup and sipping from it. This Dick Grayson even drank coffee as he did. They were so much alike ... how could this one be a killer?

"Damn bat crew," Gordon started. "Why the hell does the worst band of international assassins in the world have to pick MY city to base their operations. I have enough on my plate trying to keep the cops in this city from taking bribes and dealing with the Arkham weirdos to have to deal with these bat people. Well, I put out a shoot to kill order out for them. I'm tired of their rampaging through Gotham."

Dick nodded as he met Barbara's eyes. He saw the wicked gleam in her green eyes. She was enjoying the game she was playing with her father. How did Barbara become this ... Gordon was still police commissioner. What caused the rest of this world to go so wrong? Gordon's voice brought Dick out of his musings.

"So when are you going to get an honest job Grayson?"

"Sir?"

"You've got a lot of potential son. You don't need to waste your life imitating your father's idle playboy life. Just because Bruce Wayne has a few million dollars doesn't mean you shouldn't be a productive member of society."

"Daddy please," Barbara said as she sat on the arm of Dick's chair, her arm slipping around his shoulder. She gave him a quick squeeze on the shoulder. "Dick's a writer; he likes to work on murder mysteries."

Dick caught the way she emphasized the word murder. How she held it playfully on her tongue. It made him sick to his stomach, but he knew he had to play the part. It was too dangerous at this point not to, there was much more he needed to know. "Would you rather I were a policeman Commissioner?"

"At least it's honest work ... most of the time," Gordon replied. 

"Well at least he's not an assassin Daddy," Barbara teased, her hand squeezing Dick's shoulder again. 

Gordon laughed. "Yes, thank goodness for that."

Dick sat his coffee cup on the table beside him and stood up. "I'm going to take a shower. I'll talk to you later Commissioner." He walked into the bedroom, and then to the bathroom. Casually, he pulled off the sweatpants and let them fall on the floor. He cut the water on, turning the hot as far as he could. He stepped into the steaming stream of water and drew his breath in. Letting the water cascade over him, he rested his head against the beige tiles. He relished the few moments alone to think. He didn't know what had happened, but he knew he had to get back into Star Labs. They were his best and only chance of understanding it and getting back home. 

Two slender arms wrapping around his chest interrupted his thoughts. "Thought I'd join you," she purred. "Daddy dearest left to deal with the Bat problem." Her hands trailed down his body and she started to caress his thighs and his groin. 

"No Barbara." He grabbed her hands and pulled them up. "No, I don't feel like this."

She pressed her bady hard against his pushing him into the tile wall of the shower. "Is there someone else? You KNOW how I feel about that."

"There's noo--"

"Remember that little Italian teacher you screwed around on me with," she hissed in his ears, her fingernails digging into the skin on his chest. "Remember finding her in pieces throughout her apartment. We don't want a repeat of that now do we lover?"

Dick felt sick in the pit of his stomach. This world's version of Helena. She had ... this Barbara had ... pieces. Red hot anger welled within him at the thought and he turned on her like a feral animal. One hand was around her throat and the other held her arms behind her. He shoved her into the opposite shower wall. "I said I didn't feel like it now. There isn't anyone else. Now leave me alone or I'll snap your neck," he growled in his best Batman tone. God, she looked so much like the love of his life, but the things she did, the words she said, repulsed him to his very core. She was an abomination of the woman he loved.

This Barbara didn't show fear. She smiled. Her smile turned to laughter. "That's my boy. Nice to know you're still in there." She winked at him. "I've got to go out anyway. You be well enough tonight to play." With that, she stepped from the shower.

His eyes reluctantly followed the smooth sultry movements of her glistening nude body as she walked across the bathroom. He watched her dry off and drop the towel on the floor, and then move out into the bedroom. The door closed behind her. Only when he was alone did Dick Grayson allow himself to exhale. This world was more of a nightmare than he thought. "I gotta find a way to get home," he sighed as the now cooling water beat down on his bare skin.

She was gone when he emerged from the bathroom. Blissfully, he had the apartment to himself. He rummaged through the drawers until he found a faded pair of jeans and a rust colored T-shirt. He stood under the 'Flying Graysons' poster and looked up at the images of his parents. "How did this happen? How did your son become a murderer? How did ... I ... become a murderer?"

Shaking his head, he walked from the bedroom through the apartment to the kitchen and poured himself another cup of strong black coffee. He stared out the window at the Gotham City skyline. His jaw flexed and he moved into the living room sinking down into the sofa. His eyes darted around the room taking in his surroundings. The faint hope this was all a nightmare had left him long ago. This was all too real.

Dick sat his coffee mug on the table forcefully and stood up. "Dammit, Grayson! You're a detective, you can figure this out and how to get back home. But not if you sit and wallow all morning." He looked around the apartment and smiled when he spotted a pair of keys hanging on a hook near the door. Seems this Barbara was at least getting the slob out of him. She probably cleaned up at her crime scenes too. 

Grabbing the keys, he headed out the door. He had an idea, but he needed something first. Something he could only get in Bludhaven.

TO BE CONTINUED . . .


	3. Chapter 1c

Thanks to Patty for the beta job today. Snow days always seem to inspire fic from me lol. Hope you all enjoy this part of Dick's little trip to the mirror universe. Char :-)

DARK REFLECTION: Part 1c:

Dick Grayson watched Officers Amy Rohrbach and Gannon Malloy on patrol through the streets of Bludhaven. He followed them as closely and safely as he could on his motorcycle. He had to keep up with them, without them seeing him. Eventually, they would leave the car. Go to lunch. He was betting that Amy's lunch habits had transcended the universes. If this Amy had his Amy's penchant for a greasy spoon, he'd have the time he needed to do a little breaking and entering of her patrol car. 

He smiled as he watched the car turn off Willeford Avenue and into the parking lot of Donnelly's Irish Restaurant. She would park near the back, she always did. Dick rode past the restaurant on his motorcycle, watching Rohrbach and Malloy entering as he swung right at the light. Circling the block, he entered Donnelly's parking lot from the Island Street back entrance. Pulling his motorcycle beside of the cruiser, he hopped off. 

Dick quickly looked around. No one was watching. He pulled a lockpick from his black leather jacket and popped the trunk in one quick movement. He grabbed Amy's black duffle bag knowing she kept extra police issued items. He was going to need to get information from S.T.A.R. Labs without calling attention to Dick Grayson or Nightwing. 

"FREEZE! PUT YOUR HANDS IN THE AIR!"

"Shit," he muttered under his breath at Amy's voice behind him. Slowly he turned to see this world's versions of his two partners aiming their service revolvers at him. He was glad he had left his black motorcycle helmet on. Slowly he lifted his hands in the air in what appeared to be compliance with the officers, then with a quick flick of his left wrist threw gas pellets at them. Dick grabbed the bag, hopped on his motorcycle, and gunned it into the street. He ducked as bullets whizzed past his head. 

Sirens followed him as he headed into the Bludhaven streets. Dick was glad he had switched plates on the motorcycle. If they ran these plates, they'd discover that the number imprinted on the plate belonged to a work van owned by Gotham Power and Light. He did like this world's version of himself's selection of altered license plates in their private garage under the clocktower. When he got home, he'd have to work on upgrading his own selection. 

Revving the powerful engine of the cycle, Dick zig-zagged through Bludhaven traffic. Amy was doing her best to keep up. He grinned as he imagined what she was saying as she drove. He caught sight of two other patrol cars coming off the exit ramp to join in the pursuit. "Time to lose the cat." He accelerated the cycle past ninety and veered onto the cement retaining wall. The patrol cars were close behind him when he drove his motorcycle off the wall. The motorcycle left the wall and soared toward the traffic below. 

Dick heard the muffled sirens of Bludhaven police cruisers as the wind whipped past him. He held his breath for the jump and exhaled as the cycle landed on the top of an eighteen wheeler. Expertly, he kept the bike from skidding to the side leaving a heavy dark tire mark as the cycle bounced once. When the wheels hit the top of the trailer again, he revved the engine and popped a wheelie on the top of the truck. As he surged forward, the cycle leapt and landed on top of another smaller truck's cargo section. He drove down the windshield and hood of the truck and jumped off into traffic. He jerked the cycle back and forth as he continued to change lanes going around slower traffic and zooming between vehicles on the expressway. Flattening himself over the handlebars, Dick rocketed back toward Gotham.

* * *

"I'm Doctor Bryan Foster, head of Gotham City's S.T.A.R. Labs. I've already spoken at length with detectives from Gotham about the break in," the middle aged man in the long white coat said as he came from the secured area of the building into the main lobby. "I'm not really sure why you're here again, uh, officer --"

"Detective," Dick said with a wide smile as he held out his hand. "Detective Robert Malone, Bludhaven Police Department." He pulled a badge from his sports jacket, flashed it quickly at the scientist, and silently thanked Amy for the use of her spare. "I'm aware that this crime occurred in Gotham, but I have reason to believe it was part of a conspiracy that began in Bludhaven."

"Well, I don't understand why you couldn't just go to Detective Bullock and get any information that you might need. This seems like a waste of my time," the grey-haired man said as he adjusted his wire-rimmed glasses. 

Dick shoved one hand in his pants pocket, "You know how territorial some officers are. Gotham doesn't like Bludhaven stepping on it's toes and aren't so forthcoming in sharing information. Besides, I'd love to get a look at that room myself. In case they ... missed something important."

Foster sighed. "Very well, if I must. I'll take you to the laboratory." He walked to the reception desk, leaned over, picked up a visitor's tag and slapped it to the young detective's chest. "Follow me."

He led Dick down stark white hallways to the very large room Dick had been in the night before. It was identical to the room he had entered in his Gotham to stop a robbery. More than robbery had taken place in this room however. He walked past the many taped off outlines where bodies had fallen ... fallen at the hand of Nightwing. He walked over to the matter transference capacitor, the gash where a razor sharp modified batarang in his symbol had sliced into it exposing wires and charred circuit boards. "What's this machine used for Dr. Foster?"

"I'm quite sure that its functions are beyond your scope of understanding." 

"Humor me." 

Foster sighed and launched into his explanation as if he were speaking to a child. "We've been experimenting with matter transference, that's the movement of matter or items from one place to another, and temporal anomalies. Temporal anomalies or…well, let's just say problems in time. S.T.A.R. hopes to develop this technology into a realistic transportation alternative. Imagine the possibilities that electronic transportation in this form could have on our world. Decreased dependence on oil, a cleaner environment, the time that would be saved. What takes hours could take mere minutes. Lives would be saved simply by being able to get people to hospitals faster. Can you imagine --"

Dick held up his hand stopping the scientists excited ramblings. "Star Trek science doctor," Dick replied in a skeptical tone. He knew that on his world the JLA had transporters. He understood the alien technology that had assisted them in building them. He was unsure whether anything akin to the JLA existed in this dark world. His gut told him it didn't ... couldn't ... and allow assasins like ... well a JLA would never leave them unchecked.

"Possible science detective. With just a little more research." Foster assured him with a superior and condescending air.

"What about dimensional travel?"

"Pardon me," Doctor Foster's voice dripped with contempt as he looked at the dark haired young detective. 

"Can or rather could this machine of yours transport people between dimesions?"

"I'm not sure what you mean by dimensions, detective. But perhaps you mean the fables that there are parallel universes in existence. If they were not figments of the uneducated mind, I don't believe that the MTC could open any gateways." If possible, his condescending tone had reached a new level. 

Dick ignored Foster's tone and nodded. The doctor was obviously wrong. He was proof of that. But telling off the doctor and establishing the proof necssary to do so wasn't exactly prudent. "Have any other machines like this one in the building or in other S.T.A.R. facilities?"

Foster snorted. "Gotham's S.T.A.R. Labs is the most advance in the country, if not the world. No one is as advanced as we are. If you were knowledgeable about the scientific-" 

"Doctor, would it be possible for you to just answer the question." Dick snapped. He didn't exactly hate Foster that took too much energy and in the realm of trouble he was in….he simply didn't have the energy to spare for anything other than getting answers. 

Foster frowned. "We were the exclusive unit working on this project. This destruction has put us back at least two years before we can have another MTC back to the stage we were at before last night."

"Was anything taken last night, or just damaged?"

"Damaged. Of course I have no clue why an assassin would have come to this facility to simply destroy a machine."

"Obviously someone paid him enough to do it," Dick mused aloud. 

"It maybe obvious to you detective, but to someone that doesn't think like that kind of person. It is not." 

Dick swallowed his reply. He could easily find out exactly what that kind of person was thinking. He did, after all, have access to the bad guy's bank account since "he" was the bad guy in this world. Doctor Foster was wrong about several things. Chief among them was his assurance that S.T.A.R. was the only company capable of producing this level of technology. Someone paid to have this machine destroyed or damaged that would mean a rival company most likely. If so, perhaps they had another matter transfer capacitor. Another way home. 

His cell phone rang. Not his ... the other Dick Grayson's ... still something inside him compelled him to answer. "Hello?"

"Are you better?" a deep voice asked. 

"Yeah." he replied. 

"Come to the Manor. I have something to discuss with you."

"What?"

"Another job," this world's Bruce replied. 

Dick closed his eyes and sighed. "I'll be there ... in about an hour." The phone went dead in his ear. He closed it and dropped it back in his pocket. "Thank you Dr. Foster for all your help. If I need any more information, I'll be in touch." 

"Remember to turn in your visitor's badge at the reception desk Detective Malone," the scientist drolly responded as he walked away.

Dick looked back at the matter transference capictor and sighed. There had to be another way he could get home, he wouldn't ... couldn't ... believe this world was where he'd remain. Dick Grayson would not live out his life in this bastardized version of reality. He would find a way home.

* * *

Dick pulled in front of the Manor and immediately noticed the difference. It was in the same place, but it was not the same house. It was darker, more gothic in architecture. It was also ... smaller and appeared somewhat neglected in parts. This was not the palatial showcase he expected. This Bruce must not care about the show ... the playboy image. He wondered what other surprises awaited him inside. Taking a deep breath, he got out of the sports car and headed up the steps. 

His hand lingered over the doorknob a few moments as he steeled himself to go in. "Just plunge in and remember your part," he chided himself as he used his key to open the door. 

"Hey Dick," the cheerful voice of a sixteen year old called out. 

He smiled as he saw Tim coming down the stairway. Then it bit at the back of his mind reminding him that this wasn't Tim. This boy was a killer, like all the rest. 'Play the part, play the part' his mind recounted the litany in his brain. "Hey bro."

"Wanna go to the movies after dinner? You are staying for dinner aren't you?"

Dick shrugged. "I guess I am. We'll see about the movie after Bruce tells us about this new job."

"We'll have time. We'll make him give us time off," Tim smiled and ribbed him with his elbow as Dick took off his jacket. Tim chuckled and shook his head. "Don't drop that on that chair. Remember - "Tim slipped into another voice, "A place for everything and everything in it's place."

  
Dick didn't pause as he folded the jacket over his arm, but he couldn't conceive what the twisted Alfred of this world was like.

"Exactly, Timothy, everything in it's place. How would you find your weapons if they weren't? But I don't need to remind the world's best killer of that. Finally, coming home to visit his family. You don't have to get yourself almost blown up to have an excuse to come to dinner, Richard." 

Dick slowly turned. That voice ... was ... not ... a voice he expected to hear in this house. He bit the interior of his bottom lip to keep his mouth from droping open. 

  
A wheelchair-bound David Cain held out his arms and smiled broadly. "Come give your Uncle David a hug."

TO BE CONTINUED ... 


End file.
